Sylver Bullet
by 13thAssassin
Summary: 13-year-old Sylver Weston has always been intirgued by the supernatural. Ghosts, ghauls, skinwalker, they all hold an interst to her. She could spend hours reading the tales and legends of them. It was just for fun, until she realized the weird dreams and random visions she's been having may be more than a figment of her imagination.
1. Chapter 1

"Sylver Weston."

Sylver looked up from the book she had been reading. Or, perhaps deciphering was a better word for what she had been doing with the leather-bound journal that lay open on her desk.

Mr. Paige was looking at her from over the rim of his bifocals. "The office needs to see you," he reported, replacing the call phone in its cradle. "Immediately."

"Yes, sir," Sylver said. She closed the journal and jammed it into her messenger along with her sketch book and English homework before slinging it over her shoulder. She was aware of the eyes that followed her as she passed her classmates as she made her way from the back of the classroom.

"Wonder what she did this time," she heard on of her peers mutter to another. She didn't care to search for the source of the voice. It was no secret she had gotten into trouble before, though she wasn't so sure of what it was this time. Sylver ignored the smirks and giggles, accepted the reassuring smile of her best friend, Lizzie Howard, and kept her eyes away from the desk at the corner closest to the door. She knew who she would see sitting there, and she didn't want to meet the cool, indifferent glance of his.

The 13-year-old sighed with relief as the classroom door shut behind her and retreated down the hallway. She halted her celebration when she entered the front office, remembering that she had no idea what she was in for.

"Miss Weston," the front desk lady called as she walked past towards the principal's office. Sylver turned back, not sure wether to be worried or relieved that she wasn't going to her usual destination.

"Yes?" she said as politely as she could muster. If she was in trouble, she hoped being respectful would catch her some slack.

"Your uncles are here to pick you up," the graying lady said with looking away from her computer. She motioned over Sylver's shoulder with her hand. The teenage girl looked over her shoulder, ten times more confused than she was a moment before. As far as she knew, she didn't have any living uncles. And she certainly had never met the two men standing near the doors of the high school. When the men noticed her staring at them, they smiled widely and waved her over. Not seeing any obvious way out of this, Sylver cautiously approached them.

They looked like your average joe. One had blonde streaked hair, a muscular build, and wore a black flannel and khakis. His partner was thinner and at least a head taller. He also had a scar stretching from his ear to the corner of his grin.

"Hello," she said, glad her voice didn't betray her uncertainty.

"Sylver," the blonde man said with a friendly grin. Too friendly, Sylver decided. Almost hungry. "It's good to see you again."

"I'm sorry," she said. "There must be some sort of mistake. My name is Elizabeth Howard."

She wasn't sure when she had decided to lie. Or when she decided to use her best friend's name as her alias.

Quickly, before the men could respond, Sylver turned around and walked back out the office and into the hallway. The lady behind the desk didn't seem to take note of the scene as she continued typing away, but Sylver was positive the men would address her to clear their confusion. That, or they would come after her.

It was clear to Sylver that she couldn't go back to her English class. But she couldn't just stand out here in the hallway for the men to come and find her. Without a true plan, she started walking down the hallway. As she passed the closed doors of the hallway, she lifted a coat from one of the hooks where students hung their backpacks. Slipping it on over her dip-dyed tee, Sylver also nabbed a faded Yankees cap. She took out her hair-band, then put on the baseball hat as her wavy fair hair fell over her shoulders. In addition, she slipped off her reading glasses and set them in an outer pocket of her bag. In a final attempt to change her appearance, Sylver unclipped the strap of her messenger bag and carried it by its handle, stuffing the strap in her coat packet.

The teenager walked quickly towards the girl's bathrooms. There, the men would be unable to follow her. Then again, they could be indifferent to the rules of society and go after her anyways.

_What are you doing?_, a small voice screamed in the back of her mind. She didn't try to answer it. Mostly because she didn't have an answer. It was like some weird instinct had kicked in and had taken over, forcing her try to change her appearance, to walk past the girl's restrooms, and leave the school through the emergency exit.

Whatever the instinct was, she didn't try to fight it. What else could she do than to follow it? Tell someone two men she had never met before had claimed to be her uncles and tried to kidnap her? Coming from a kid known for her "trouble making imagination", no one would believe that story. They would blame it as an attempt to ditch school.

Now she was running down the side walk. Away from the school. Away from her "uncles". Away from the teachers and principal. Running as fast as she could, sprinting with her messenger bag in hand. Suddenly, she wasn't on the street anymore. In the state of Washington, it wasn't rare to find yourself on a dirt road surrounded by forest on either side, so she didn't panic. She knew exactly where she was.

As she followed the road, now at a slower, less hurried pace, and now that she was out of sight of the high-school, Sylver found herself wishing she had grabbed her bike from the bike stand. Or stopped by her locker to grab her phone. Then she could call Rilla to come pick her up. Or Davis. But in her instinctive over-drive, the obstacle of having to walk all the way home had never occurred to her.

And then it begin to rain, The grey clouds an omen of what was to come.


	2. Chapter 2

With the rain pouring around her, pelting the pavement, creating as much noise as thunder, Sylver didn't here the pick-up truck approach from behind until it was on her heels. She looked over her shoulder, took one look at the beat-up Ford's buff blonde driver, and took off running. It obviously wasn't a very good plan. It was a teenage girl running from a truck. A truck that could reach 80mph no problem. The pick-up soon pulled up beside her. Sylver ran faster despite the odds. She glanced over at the rolled down window of the driver side window. She met the dark eyes of the blonde brute. No, not dark. Black. Entirely black. The pupils, the irises, the scleras all the same midnight black.

Sylver's breath caught in her throat even before the man grinned, showing a mouthful of fangs. They looked horrifying. Bloodthirsty. Familiar. She didn't have time to recall where she had seen them before he wrenched the wheel to the left. Before she could panic, she threw herself back and rolled into the wet dead leaves of the forest floor. The truck wasn't so lucky. Whereas Sylver landed in the soft (muddy) earth, the Ford pick-up missed her by an inch and crashed into an oak tree.

_Holy crap!_ Sylver thought as she lay on her back where she had landed, starring up at the grey clouds through the dripping canopy. She lay still with no intent on ever moving again. Then she heard a car door open.

Sylver sat up slowly. Safe to say, the truck was totaled. The hood was smashed into a metal accordion, the windshield shattered, busted rear-view mirror hanging by a wire. The front driver's side door was open and, as she watched, the blonde brute's boots hit the wet earth. He paused, starring at her with those ink black eyes. Studying her. Then he grinned with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. They reminded Sylver of a Great White sharks; a hungry predator. The brute took a step toward her, and she automatically scrambled back an inch. His smile widened at that, as if he was enjoying taunting her. It was cat and mouse. Swift hawk versus small, trembling sparrow.

Sylver _was_ trembling. The icy grip of fear on her heart tightened with each step the cat took. He was limping, though he seemed too into hit little game to care, nor take notice of the blood that was dripping from a cut on his forehead. Or possibly he didn't feel his injuries. Sylver didn't care either way. She scrambled back with each step until her back hit a tree.

The man, the man who had posed has one of her "uncles", who had tried to splatter her with his truck, limped closer and bent over her. She flinched when he breathed out, right in her face. A scent like rotten meat escaped his mouth.

"Sylver," he hissed. "The final hunter."

Before she could blink, the man's hand shot out and wrapped around her throat. He yanked her up and held lifted her up off the ground like a rag doll. She would have screamed, for help, for someone to save her, but she couldn't utter a word as the oxygen was closed off from her lungs. She scratched at the fingers around her throat, panic seizing her.

"I'm sorry, darling," the man hissed again, I cannot allow you to live."

Black dots swam across her vision as he brought up a knife in his free hand. It's blade shone as he raised it, catching a ray of sun in the parting clouds.

_HELP!_ she screamed inwardly as the knife arched down towards her.

Through her blurring eyes, she saw the knife halt, and the man's eyes widen. His coal black eyes flashed and they were once again human, with dazzling blue irises.

His vice grip loosened and Sylver fell-

Onto the soft comforter of a bed.

She sucked in a breath, choking as the sweet air hit her lungs. She panted, whipping her head around to take in the veiw of what looked like a motel stopped as her eyes struck three men standing beside her. She scooted away from them, her panic unceasing. There was a tall, hulking one that was bigger than the football players on her high-school's team. The second was shorter, his dark hair crew cut and spiked in the front. Both men stared at her, as surprised as she was there as she was. But she concentrated on the third man. He was familiar in his trench coat, dark hair, and deathly serious expression.

"Castiel?" Sylver exclaimed, though it came out as a hoarse, pitched voice that didn't sound like her own.

"Hello, Sylver," he said cooly.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hold up a sec. Who's this?" crew cut demanded.

"Dean, chill. I'm sure Cas has a reason for popping her here," the hulking football player said. He looked at Castiel, who returned the look with a blank stare.

"Sylver called me to her aid," he said with the same level tone.

"She did?" the man with the crew cut, Dean, said.

"She did?" Sylver said at the same time. She didn't remember ever calling anyone and even of she had it wouldn't have been some guy in a trench coat who only existed in one of her bizarre dreams.

Except he was standing right in front of her, too real to be a figment of her imagination. Though this whole scenario being a dream would explain a lot. Maybe she's fallen asleep in English.

"Yes, she did," Castiel went on, oblivious to her confused state.

"When Sylver was attacked by the demon, she called for help. I answered her call."

"You're tellin' me this kid was attacked by a demon?" Dean said.

"Why?" the still unnamed man asked.

"Time out," Sylver said, holding up her hands. "Who are you people and how did I get here? And what do you mean attacked by a demon? What demon?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Castiel observed unhelpfully.

"And you're not answering any of them!" she snapped. Dean and the other man exchanged glances, while Castiel remain indifferent to her outburst. Sylver shut her eyes, resisting the urge to scream in frustration. "I want to go home," she stated as evenly as she could.

"Sylver," Castiel said, "you know that is not possible."

"And why not?" she exclaimed, reopening her eyes.

"You recognized me, Sylver. You know the answer."

"No," she argued. "No, I don't know the answer."

"How do you know Cas?" Dean asked.

"From a-" she halted, realizing how stupid get explanation was. She looked over the three men. "This is a dream, isn't it? Any second know, I'm going to wake up in English class with Mr. Paige droning on about gerunds and paranomials."

"I don't know what that means," Castiel admitted.

"Sylver," tall, dark, and gigantic said, "we're just as confused as you are. But I can tell you this isn't a dream."

She pretended to ignore him, though her gut twisted with is words.

"I'm calling Rilla," she said, reaching for the cell phone in her bag.

"What's a Rilla?" Dean asked.

"She's my-" Sylver froze when she realized her bag wasn't beside her. "Nonononononono," she said frantically, looking around on the bed as if she had somehow overlooked it. "My bag!" she exclaimed when she didn't see it.

"I don't see what's so important about a freakin' purse," Dean said.

"Not a purse, you idget! My bag! I must have dropped it when that guy true to hit me with his car."

"Who did what now?"

"The demon," Castiel said. "I'll be back." Then he was gone. Disappeared. Poof.

"A demon tried to hit you with a car," Dean said slowly.

"He wasn't a demon! He was just..." she trolled off, suddenly remembering his vicious, bloodthirsty teeth. His eyes had been black, empty... Soulless.

The two men watched her as she put the peaces together. She looked up at then, and they must have seen the confusion and fear in her eyes.

"A daemon tried to hit me with a car," she said quietly.

The second man beside Dean opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly Castiel was standing beside him. He held a messenger bag made of cracked leather. Sylver sighed with relief an accepted her bag when Castiel handed held it out.

Her stomach dropped as soon as she opened it. "Oh, shit," she said.

"What now?" Dean said, sounding annoyed he was being kept out of the loop.

"My journal," she said. It was missing. "He took it!"

"What would a demon want with your diary?"

"It wasn't a diary. It was my grandfather's journal. He gave it to me before he died."

"And he would be..."

"Her grandfather," Castiel said, "was Samuel Winchester Sr."


	4. Chapter 4

The brothers stared at Sylver as if she had fallen out of the sky- which wasn't far from the truth. The teen groaned and fell back on the bed suddenly exhausted. "I can't believe I lost that journal. I put months into deciphering those legends!"

"What's your name?" Dean said.

"What?" Sylver glanced up at him. "Cas told you. It's Sylver.

"Full name."

"You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

"You don't trust us?" his brother said. Sylver propped herself up on her elbows and raised an eyebrow. "Smart girl," Dean muttered, then, louder, added, "I'm Dean and gigantor over here is Sam... Winchester."

"Oh," she said much calmer than she felt, "Mine's Sylver Weston. And if you'll excuse me, I'm going home to the real world were things actually make sense."

The brothers didn't try to stop her as she spring up and rushed to the door. She flung it open and was met with the rays of the hot, blinding sun. A road that looked more dirt than gravel stretched past the near-empty motel parking-lot. Beyond that was sand, sand, cacti, and sand.  
"This," Sylver breathed, "is not Olympia, Washington."

The heat of Pheonix was brutal. Only an icy glass of H2O could sooth the oppressing dryness. That, and a feast of veggie burgers and greasy fries.  
Sylver inhaled an entire meat-free burger before looking up to catch Sam watching her. He quickly went back to his dinner.

She glanced at Castiel who hadn't stopped looking out the window since they had sat down at the diner's booth. A bell chimed over the doorway as Dean entered the diner. He dropped a file onto the table and sat down beside Sylver. Sam and the teen glanced at the Manila as Dean spoke in a low voice.

"Turns out Sylver is our cousin," he said to Sam. "Her father, Riley Weston, married Lyla Winchester, out aunt and Gramp's daughter."

"So... Dad's sister?"

"Apparently."

"And Lyla and Riley are..."

"Dead," Sylver said quietly, "they were killed in a car accident when I was 6 months old."


End file.
